


Wait for Me

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John has a fever, M/M, Ok it's a sickfic, Sherlock comforts John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 21:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14411133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: Sherlock hated it on the rare occasions that John succumbed to illness. More often it was an injury, a few times nearly taking his life, but to see him now, with himself the sole caregiver, he felt helpless. He never felt helpless, well, hardly ever, and only with John.





	Wait for Me

“Wait for me. Sherlock, please..wait..for..me.”

“Hush, now. It’s all right. Sleep.”

Sherlock pressed a cool flannel to John’s forehead. It had been only hours, not the days that it seemed since his doctor had developed a fever that grew higher as the day progressed.

When John’s temperature spiked to 38.9°C, Sherlock raised the alarm and called for help. Until help arrived, all he could do was to try to keep John comfortable and wait. Impatiently.

Sherlock hated it on the rare occasions that John succumbed to illness. More often it was an injury, a few times nearly taking his life, but to see him now, with himself the sole caregiver, he felt helpless. He never felt helpless, well, hardly ever, and only with John. 

“Sherlock?”

Mrs. Hudson’s quiet footsteps approached the bedroom door, her soft knock a welcome relief.

“Sherlock, Mike Stamford to see you?”

Unwilling to leave John’s side for a moment, he turned his head toward the door.

“Mike, we need your help. Mrs. Hudson, this is Dr. Mike Stamford, an old friend of John’s and a not so quite so old friend of mine.”

Ever the gentleman, Mike nodded to the older woman, quickly moving to the side of the bed when Sherlock relinquished temporarily John’s care to him. Mrs. Hudson stood at the end of the bed, her brows knitted with worry.

Opening his case, Mike brought out his stethoscope, fitting the tips into his ears and warming the bell in his palm. He listened to John’s lungs and heart, the accepted procedure John had explained to Sherlock on an occasion long ago so that he would understand the medical side of their partnership. Although the knowledge didn’t ease his worry, or the flutter in his heart, it satisfied his mind.

“He’s a bit congested, but not to worry at this point in time.”

Mike continued his examination with palpation of the lymph nodes in John’s neck and proceeded to check his ears and eyes, but when he tried to look at his throat, John protested by turning his head away.

“Sherlock?” 

“Oh, yes, Mike, of course.”

Easing onto the bed beside John, he pressed his lips to John’s ear. “John? Love? Mike Stamford is here to examine you. Can you open your mouth so he can see your throat? Would you do this for me?”

John turned toward Sherlock, struggled to open his eyes.

“Please, John. Would to allow him to look at your throat?”

John loosened his jaw, inhaling deeply, his eyes drifting shut again.

Pressing down with his thumb on his doctor’s chin allowed Mike to shine his torch into John’s mouth. 

“A bit inflamed. Nodes are enlarged somewhat. That’s common with a respiratory infection. Did he receive his yearly flu jab?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Neither of us has. We were on a difficult case and that was the last thing on our minds. Damn.”

“When he’s recovered, be sure he gets one to protect him for the rest of the flu season. From your description of John’s symptoms, I suspected this, so I brought along a couple doses. You’ve been exposed, but if you don’t contract it, in two weeks time you’ll have some immunity. If you do become sick and you need help or just a friendly voice to ease your concern, just give me a call or send a text. My contact is on John’s phone.”

Sherlock raised the sleeve of his t-shirt for the jab. So concerned about John, he felt nothing. 

“Any vomiting?”

“No. Should I expect that?”

“Unless he’s contracted a stomach virus as well, probably not.”

Sherlock exhaled, glad for one worry he didn’t have to worry about. Suddenly frowning, he now worried that his worry was replicating itself with redundant worry words. Shaking his head, he deleted that string of thoughts and turned back to worrying about John. 

Here we go again. Brilliant.

“Sherlock? Wherever you are, you need to stay with me. John needs you.”

Sherlock snapped back to attention when Mike tapped his wrist, aware of the flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

“I know, because it’s John, this might be a bit overwhelming for you, but it’s not catastrophic, it’s the flu. Keep him hydrated, with sips of water or ice slivers, bathe him with a cool, not cold, flannel. As long as the fever is where it is, he won’t be very lucid. When the fever breaks, you can try a bit of broth. 

“I have a nice pot of vegetable broth. I’ll bring some up a bit later, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded, eyes firmly on John’s flushed face. “Thank you,” he forced past the lump in his throat.

“Mrs. Hudson,” Mike said, turning towards her. “Have you had your flu jab?”

“Oh, yes, Dr. Stamford, John gave me the special one and a pneumonia jab as well.”

“Good for you. And you can just call me Mike.”

“Oh, thank you,” she tittered, smiling, Sherlock noted, no doubt pleased to be acknowledged as a member of their circle of family and friends.

“Well, I’ll be off now. I have some students to teach this afternoon. Give John my best when he’s aware of himself. I’ll check in with you this evening via text for your update, so keep John’s phone with you.”

“Thank you, Mike. I appreciate that you were able to see us so quickly.”

Sherlock offered his hand, then pulled it back.

“Not to worry, Sherlock, I’ve had my flu jab, Mike said with a chuckle. “May I wash my hands before I leave?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Sherlock said, offering his hand a second time.

While Mike detoured to the loo to wash, Sherlock thanked Mrs. Hudson in advance for the broth, and returned to pressing a cool flannel to John’s brow.

John turned to him, his eyes slitted and puffy. “Sherlock?”

“I’m here, love. How do you feel?”

John stared at him for a long moment. “Like shite,” he whispered, grimacing. 

“Throat sore?”

John only nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing a tiny kiss to the corner of John’s dry lips. “Would ice slivers help?”

There was no answer. John had once more withdrawn to his fevered sleep.

When Mike returned to the bedside, Sherlock tried to smile, but failed. Without a word, Sherlock accompanied Mike to the landing.

“I know you’ll take good care of him, Sherlock. In a day or two he’ll be well on in his recovery and you’ll delete all this. I know you hate it when he’s ill, but it will pass. I promise.”

Sherlock forced a smile to keep Mike from hovering over him. Only John was allowed to do that.

“Well, I’ll be off. My hovering won’t do either of you a favor.”

Sherlock stared, unsure how Mike had read his thoughts. He lingered on the landing until he heard Mike step off the seventeenth stair. He counted, he always counted.

“Remember, Sherlock, I’m only as far away as a phone call or text.”

“Yes, thank you again, Mike.”

“Stop worrying, Sherlock,” Mike called up the stairs. 

Sherlock waited for the door to close and he was gone.

“Not gonna happen,” Sherlock whispered, using the Watson vernacular. “Not in my lifetime on this fucking planet,” he whispered under his breath, turning on his heel and wearing a wicked smirk in John’s honor as he hurried to the bedroom.

*****

He’d never known such darkness, and from within that darkness distorted and disjointed faces stood waiting. Everywhere. Circling, their bony fingers reaching for him, pulling at him, trying to force him to...what? He cried out. 

A face near normal shape and size. Eyes that focussed on him with an intensity, frightened and loving at once. Eyes sometimes blue, sometimes green, sometimes gray, but always soft, worried, awash with unshed tears. Fingers stroke his cheek, the only comfort for a bit. Moments he waited for. Had to find them..him..out there. Out there. The hands went away.

“No, don’t leave. Wait for me.”

“Shh. I’m right here.” 

Soft words whispered in his ear. Reaching out for the voice. His hand kept safe. A kiss. Slipping back to the dark.

“No.no.no. Stay.”

*****

It was unlikely that John knew he had bolted upward, crashing hard against Sherlock. Sherlock cradled him against his chest, uncomfortably aware of the heat rolling off him in waves. For a few moments John held fast to him, then slowly went limp, so he rocked his doctor, listening to his breathing, and hoping the congestion would ease soon.

When a solution struck him, he lay John on his side for as long as it took him to gather every pillow in the flat. Piling them and a few extra blankets from John’s old room against the headboard, he toed out of his shoes and crawled onto the bed to straddle him. With his forearms under John’s arms, and his hands cradling his head, Sherlock slid him up onto the pillows. Covering him with just a sheet, he sat beside him until he was certain it was safe to leave him long enough to refill the basin and find a clean flannel. 

After a quick stop in the kitchen to gather ice slivers and the liquid paracetamol Mike had brought—he made a mental note to try to reimburse their friend if he returned to check on John—he made his way through the sitting room, scooping up his laptop on the return trip to the bedroom.

John sighed when Sherlock held a cool flannel to his forehead, but he didn’t stir from his fevered sleep. The slivers of ice he slipped into John’s mouth melted immediately on his parched tongue, but did little to assuage his thirst. He’d have to wait until John woke to offer sips of water and the desperately needed fever reducer.

When another idea popped into his head, Sherlock strode to the loo to check the medicine cabinet for something he wished to still be there. And there it was. Burt’s Bees lip balm. Just what John needed.

Allowing himself a smile of victory at his find, he sat next to John, liberally applying the balm to his doctor’s dry and just beginning to crack lips. 

As a reward for his idea, and to his great relief, John moaned deep in his throat, the adorable tip of his tongue making a gentle swipe across his upper lip.

*****

The coolness to his forehead, he shivered, then the heat returned. Afghanistan? No thoughts, no sense. Mouth so dry, then ice touched his tongue. A balm to his lips. A cough, exploding in his chest, hurts. Where? The voice in his ear. There, it’s near.

“John? I’m here. Come back. Would you do that for me?” 

The voice. In his ear.

“Wait for me,” he called out.

Darkness. Nothing. Just darkness.

*****

John’s fever seemed to dip a bit approximately an hour after Sherlock somehow managed to get a dose of paracetamol down his throat without choking.

Once Sherlock was certain that the fever reducer was in John’s bloodstream, he warmed a few ounces of Mrs. Hudson’s vegetable broth, bringing it to the bedside. 

“John,” he whispered, feathering the tip of one finger along his cheek. 

Slowly, John’s fever-bleary eyes opened. 

“There you are. I have some broth for you.”

John licked his lips. “Wha..kine?”

Sherlock smiled, pleased to have John back even if it was just for a moment. “Vegetable. No poultry or beef for you, my love.”

John drifted in and out while Sherlock coaxed him to sip the broth. Pleased that John drank without incident, he set aside the cup and reapplied the balm to his doctor’s fevered lips. 

Soon John was asleep again. Sherlock rose from his place beside him and refilled the basin and took another flannel. This time, he intended to complete the task correctly and thoroughly. After locking the bedroom door and the adjoining bath in case Mrs. Hudson decided to look in on them, he collected clean pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt for John and proceeded to bathe his doctor from head to toe.

While he was concentrated on John’s upper body, John stirred and opened his eyes. Sherlock leaned forward to kiss him gently and for the first time in many hours, John tried to smile at him.

“Hello there, love. Your fever is down a bit. I thought it would help if I bathed you.”

“Feels..good.”

“I’ll just cover you with the towel for a moment so you can drink a small amount of water.”

With a hand cradling the sandy head, Sherlock held the glass to his mouth. “Just a bit, John. You don’t want to choke. If you’d rather, I could get you some more ice.

“It’s fine. Water’s good.”

“I’ll finish bathing you so you can rest. It’s nearly time for more paracetamol. As soon as your fever comes down, you’ll feel better.”

“Guess I forgot my flu jab.”

“Yes, as did I.”

As Sherlock finished bathing and patting him dry, John closed his eyes and disappeared into his fever.

*****

He stood in a meadow, on one side of a stream laden with flowers. On the other side stood Sherlock and as he watched, the man who was the love of his life began to fade. 

“Sherlock! Wait!”

Goodbye, John.”

“No, Sherlock!”

“Will you do this for me?”

“You can’t go. You promised. You said you would never leave me behind again.”

“I’m sorry, John. Since we will likely not see each other again..”

“No! I won’t let you go alone. I’m coming with you.”

“I have to do this alone, John. I’m sorry.”

“No! Wait for me! No.”

*****

John had few moments of clarity over the subsequent two days, but Sherlock only left his side when Mrs. Hudson offered to watch him while he took a badly needed shower. Even then, he took the fastest shower in the history of showers to rush back to John.

He spent his awake hours on the bed next to John, answering emails and texts, including one from Mike checking up on both of them. Although he slept little during the night, those hours were spent lying close to John and not around him as they usually slept because he was afraid of adding his body heat to push the stubborn fever higher. Holding his hand and listening to his frightened, childlike cries of ‘wait for me’ broke his heart.

Finally, in the early hours of the fourth day, John’s fever broke and he settled into a peaceful sleep. Thankful that John was cool to the touch, Sherlock finally was able to pull the duvet over them and curl around his doctor. Breathing in the essence of John, and finally able to release the tension in his body for the first time in an eternity, Sherlock splayed one long-fingered hand over John’s heart.

Finally, he slept.

*****

John woke slowly, cocooned in Sherlock’s arms. A bit chilled, he gradually realised he was no longer hot and uncomfortable. Every part of him ached, but that was fine. He was back from the darkness, no longer conjuring up the distorted faces and disjointed course of events that haunted his fevered dreams.

He only knew that Sherlock was with him all the while. He hadn’t faded away, he hadn’t left him alone and grieving. It was all fine now.

John turned slowly in Sherlock’s arms, tucking his face into the impossibly long, slender neck and curling an arm around his waist. Sherlock pulled him tighter, until there wasn’t an iota of distance between them.

“You were thinking a moment ago. All right now?”

“You waited for me,” John whispered against his neck.

“I did.”

For minutes there was only the sound of their breathing.

“You are still bothered by the fear that I will leave you again.”

“No.”

“Yes, you are. Your dreams told me. You are still frightened that I will go off on a case and leave you behind.”

“No.”

“John.”

“I know in my heart that you love me-”

“And therein lies the the reason I will never leave you behind, I will always come back for you. I will always want you with me.”

“I hope so.”

“Don’t hope, John. Know. I would be lost without you. For me, there is no life for me without you.”

John pulled back to look at him. “I love you.”

Sherlock’s warm smile tugged at his heart. “Yes, and I love you as well. Always have, always will.”

“There will always be two of us, Sherlock.”

“Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.”

“Damn straight.”

“Flu be damned. I’ve waited just as long as I intend to. I am going to kiss you now.”

John grinned at him. “I might be contagious still.”

“I got my flu jab a few days ago.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” Sherlock trilled in a high-pitched squeal. “For God’s sake shut up and kiss me, you idiot.”

John laughed as he snuggled closer. “That’s an endearing term, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> This will be my last posting for a while. Taking some time to regroup. I will be reading and commenting as usual. Ta!


End file.
